Long gone are the days when a ringing phone was exciting. A ringing phone is a horror story. An intrusion. A threat. And yet, curiously, while we press the ‘decline’ button when we’re sitting on the sofa, we answer that ringing phone in the most awkward of circumstances…
In the bath
Careful now. There are two things at play. First, under no circumstances can you get the phone wet. You cannot afford an ill phone. The other thing is – is this weird? Is it weird? I mean you are naked. What if they are naked? Also it’s 3 in the afternoon.
During a nap
At the hairdresser
It is always just when the colourist is performing an elaborate move and double-proofing that awkward bit at the front – which is not grey but WHITE. And the phone gets covered in smoosh. And the colourist pretends he doesn’t mind but even you know you are annoying. Or there is a blow-dry happening. Or you are under the heater thing and shit it’s hot and is the phone going to fuse to your head and explode your brain and is that really just the solution to everything?
During a fight
The changing room
There you are, gazing at your monstrous arse from a zillion terrible angles and, hold that thought because the phone is ringing. And you cannot find it. Where the fuck is your phone under the pile of discarded unflattering nightmares? It’s lost and yet… you can still hear it ringing. You’ve unwittingly discovered ACTUAL HELL.
You’ve answered and it’s fine. But then the questions keep coming. So you do a one-handed pull-up thing. Now you want to flush. You cannot leave the loo until you’ve flushed. You cannot flush until the person stops speaking. Trapped.
Just before sex
‘Would it be weird if I answered the phone now?’ You have heard yourself say.